Gregstophe Oneshots
by J.E.McCormickGal
Summary: Because I need somewhere to put them all xD T for swearing, yaoi, and South Park. Viva La Gregstophe.
1. Running

**Running**

_A/N: HALLO~_

_LOOK IT'S GREGSTOPHE :D  
HURRAAAH!_

_Continue with the reading -_

_Warnings: Swearing, bad-ass-ery and guns._

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or the show South Park. I own... umm... the laptop I write these on. *shrugs*_

=X=

Two shadowy silhouettes crept around the back of the falling-down building, sticking close to the walls to avoid being seen.

"Sheet, eet'll be 'ard to get out of 'ere wiz-out being seen." The broader of the two teens whispered in a gravelly French accent.

"I know it will Christophe, but we should be able to do it. We just have to creep around here, get to that building by covering behind that wall, and then it's around 100 metres to that piece of metal, for a quick shelter, then another 100 to the gates, where we'll be able to get out. The jeep is out there, you can drive us outta this area and we'll be back in South Park within 10 hours, assuming there are no complications." The smaller blonde boy whispered back, his higher British voice totally contrasting his friend's lower one.

"Ah Gregory, what would I do wiz-out your plans?" the brunette chuckled affectionately, stomping out his cigarette before peering around the corner of the building to check the coast was clear.

"You'd die." Gregory smiled mischievously. The pair ran to the shelter of the low wall, before the French mercenary turned to face his British companion, frowning.

"Non, I would not." The blonde gave him a look, and Christophe rolled his eyes "Ok, one time. But give me a break, eet was all zat fat keeds fault. Damn guard-dogs." The boy shuddered. "Ignoring zat… I would dig a tunnel. Tunnels are easier and safer zan all zis undercover running." He defended.

"Sure, sure Chris. But running is faster, and more fun; if you're good at it that is." He smirked as they edged carefully along the wall, running behind another building and walking at normal pace.

"I am perfectly capable at running Greg. I just 'ave more equipment to carry. Besides, underground no-one can see you to shoot at you. Zat, you cannot argue with." He stated, slightly ruffled at the suggestion his companion had made.

"Touché Christophe, touché." Gregory nodded. They stopped, studying the short distance with no cover. "We sprint for that bit of corrugated steel, yes? Then stop for a minute to cover and then run home-free to the jeep. Ok?"

"Oui, if you say so."

The two boys started to run across the open space, crouching low to try not to be seen. It didn't work, because when they were halfway they heard one of the guards shout.

"Intruders! Shoot them! I don't care if you kill them or not, just don't let them get away!"

"Sheet!" Christophe cursed, jumping and stumbling as the gunfire rang out.

"Run faster!" Gregory yelled, speeding up and overtaking Christophe.

The brunette cried out as he was shot in the leg. He attempted to continue running but his leg would not allow it; it simply collapsed as he put his weight onto it. Christophe lay helplessly, pulling at his shovel to try and use it; as a crutch, to dig a quick hole, anything, but the clasp that held it in place would not budge.

He turned to see Gregory stopped beside him, occasionally dodging from side to side so he wasn't stood still too long. His light brown eyes were wide, concerned and – could Christophe see fear in them?

"Run Gregory! You must get ze information to ze government!" he yelled over the gunfire, trying desperately to keep a brave face. His leg was in extreme pain, and he knew that lying still he'd be an easy target. He pushed Gregory's leg in an attempt to prompt the boy forward; the blonde stayed still by his side, still dodging and darting, looking from the men shooting, to the cover and down at Christophe.

"I'm not leaving without you Chris." He muttered, finally ducking to grab the brunette under the arms and start dragging him along.

"Zat's stupid. Get out of 'ere. I'm sloweeng you down. Go _on_ Gregory, I don't want you fucking dyeeng!" Christophe yelled.

"I don't want _you_ dying either!" Gregory retorted. He pulled Christophe up onto his good leg, forcing the brunette's arm over his shoulder before pulling Christophe towards the gap in the fence, their jeep and ultimately, safety. Christophe, realising that Gregory obviously wasn't just going to abandon him, hopped at fast as he could.

The two boys clambered into the jeep and Gregory put his foot down, speeding them away until there were no shots heard. They got onto a road and slowed down to the fastest the speed limit would allow; Gregory liked to keep on the right side of the law when possible. Christophe, having recovered himself, glared over at the blonde.

"Zat was fucking stupid." He hissed.

"You're okay, I'm okay, we've succeeded, that's all that matters." Gregory said calmly. Christophe shook his head and lit a cigarette.

"You are an idiot." The brunette muttered.

"Love you too Chris." Gregory replied sarcastically, but both boys knew it held a secret, more literal meaning. Christophe smirked.

"Je t'aime aussi. Now get me to a 'ospital."

=X=

_A/N: Tada~_

_This has been hiding in my folders for AGES, it's the first Gregstophe fic I think I ever wrote._

_For some reason I find Christophe's line of 'You must get ze information to ze government!' REALLY funny xD_

_And Gregory is an expert at dodging shots :P_

_Also, welcome my new GREGSTOPHE ONESHOTS to my one-shot collection! Mwahahaha~ I will be adding all other Gregstophe oneshots to here, and I'll thank you for your reviews on each story if you've already reviewed. Thank you, and goodbye for now :)_


	2. Friend Or Foe?

**Friend or Foe**

**Summary:** "You choose, mon cheri. Friend or foe?" Gregstophe? Inspired by t.A.T.u's song 'Friend Or Foe'.

_A/N: Yeah, inspired by t.A.T.u's song of the same name. I hope you like it, even if it was just quick XD_

_Warnings: You know, I don't think there's actually any language._

_Disclaimer: I don't own South Park. I don't own 'Friend or Foe'. I do own a packet of tangfastics._

=X=

Gregory narrowed his eyes at Christophe, who was now still silently, looking away from the blonde. The English boy threw down the small wooden box he had been about to throw at the brunette. Briefly he noted that it was the one Christophe had bought him a few years ago.

"_For all ze random small zings you 'ave everywhere."_ He had smirked. Gregory shook his head to clear the memory.

"Ees it too late?" Christophe asked quietly.

"What do we even have anymore, Christophe?" Gregory sighed. "Is there anything to attempt saving?"

"Love?" It sounded more like a question than an answer.

"I don't know the last time I meant it when I said that."

For a moment Christophe's eyes widened, showing shock and hurt, before he closed them and sighed.

"So w'at 'appened wiz us? W'at 'appens now? Friend or foe?"

"I don't know." Gregory shook his head. "I just don't know anymore."

"We used to love each ozer..."

"_Used_ Christophe. Past tense."

"But..."

"No, I can't do this." Gregory took a step back from the French teen.

"Deed we not promise, to always try and make eet work, even eef eet was 'ard?" Christophe pressed.

"Did we not both do so hesitantly? Face it Christophe..."

"Gregory..." The brunette stepped forward and took a soft hold on the blonde's pale hand. Gregory drew it away. Christophe pressed his lips together in a thin line and looked away, stepping back again. He turned to walk out of the apartment, picking up a few fallen or thrown objects as he went. He looked at the box.

"I really loved you. I steel do, Greg. I am not... I do not want to just geeve zis up."

"I used to know where we stood Christophe." The other teenager hated how Gregory continued to use his full, formal name. "I knew for certain you were on my side, that you wouldn't ever betray me..."

"I wouldn't!"

"But now I'm not 100% sure. You're too unpredictable Christophe. I don't know what you mean, when you lie, if you do truly care for me."

"Of course I do! 'Ow can you doubt zat?" Christophe was close to shouting, but he didn't want to end up in an argument like the one that had just ended. He took a deep breath, opening the door.

"You decide, mon cheri. Friend or foe." With that, and one longing, loving look back at Gregory, Christophe walked out of the apartment, and shut the door behind him with what seemed to be a ringing finality.

The door opened itself slightly, and Gregory could hear the footsteps of the boy he loved, and did indeed still love, echoing down the hallway as he walked away.

_You decide, mon cheri. Friend or foe?_

=X=

_A/N:Huwaaa! t.A.T.u songs fit oddly well with Gregstophe, listening to them just inspired me. I think, if I end up doing another one, which I might, I'll have to make a Gregstophe Oneshot collection XD_

_This is kinda angst-y/sad. I dunno It's this, Perfect Enemy, or Not Gonna Get Us, and this was the one I typed for and finished. It's really short (just about 500 word methinks) but still. Oh, and Malchik Gay, but I'm figuring that one out still._

_The one bad thing about sleeping downstairs at my Dads is I don't have a room to go to so I can type these up, so I have to wait till late and everyone's gone. Still, I can watch South Park late at night too ;)_

_Well, buh-bye, there's currently a marathon on. Peace et fire :P_

_-EDIT-_

_Thanks to __**The Truth's Lie**__ and __**Oriental Nightmare**__ for reviewing this chapter when it was up as a separate story!_


	3. Thankful

**Thankful**

**Description: **_Christophe is thinking about Gregory, and a final incident with a dog that unearths a secret from Christophe's mysterious past finally brings them closer..._

**Pairing: **_Gregstophe_

**Warning: **_Eeeeh language, you know?_

I do not have a lot to be thankful of in my life. My father abused and hated me from my birth, and frankly, I'm glad I left him back in France. My mother is quite tough – very much tough love when it comes to it. Heck, she didn't want me to begin with, but she said she 'grew to love me', which makes me feel extremely fucking wanted.

And apart from my fucked up family? Oh the things that have happened to me in my life, you could not believe. Living by stealing since the age of 3? Check. Being mauled within an inch of my life more than 20 times, before the age of 5? Check. Being killed by dogs, journeying to Hell and then back, aged just 7? Happened.

I learnt, at an extremely young age, that it was a dog-eat-dog world out there, and the only way to survive was to be tough, and not let anyone get in your way. Become attached to no-one, kill those who threatened you, and find work where possible. That's how I managed to get into the mercenary business – I simply used my survival instinct. I did very childish missions when I was young – when I moved here to South Park, America, I met Gregory Thorne and we basically 'played' mercenary together.

Gregory Thorne is probably the one thing I am grateful for. I would thank God for him, if I believed it meant anything. He gives me my pay-check, the money that allows me to buy my food; he pays most of the rent for the apartment we share; he is the one person in my life who I could not live without.

And not just because of the money I get from him. _Non_, not at all. The relationship we share – more than business partners, or boss and employee – is what I guess could be compared to 'best friends', though it is such a childish term I never use it.

Oh I have other friends, _oui_. I am good friends with Damien, the Antichrist, and Kenny McCormick – him and Damien seem to be extremely good friends due to the time they spend together in Hell whenever McCormick dies. I have met various other people, and I occasionally talk to said people if I feel it worth the breath. But there is no-one, _no-one_, I trust like I trust Gregory.

Sometimes he annoys me. Sometimes I can hardly contain the want to hit him around the head with my trusty shovel. So I resort to calling him childish names, like 'British bitch' and various others, depending on the situation. And always, every time, he will come up to me, apologise sweetly, and ruffle my hair, though he knows I hate it. Yet every time, I can forgive him.

He is generally a civil, neat, and calm person. He has a dark side – I have annoyed or upset him enough before to regret it for a week afterwards. He helps me, surprisingly frequently, on my missions – you wouldn't think, from his extremely neat and clean exterior that he would enjoy crawling through mud on tough, life-threatening missions. He doesn't; as unfazed as he is about killing someone, he hates to get his hands dirty or hair messed. And whenever he complains, all I can do is laugh inwardly.

Gregory looks, quite honestly, stunning. He is handsome, and there is no denying it. His golden-blonde hair is always neatly combed – apart from the early mornings, when it is so uncharacteristically tousled he apologises for 'looking a state'. That is another thing that makes me chuckle to myself.

He is always dressed impeccably well, in clean almost new looking clothes, almost the total opposite of me. I am hardly ever out of a pair of my many combats, and a plain t-shirt; all mud-stained. He always tuts at how dirty I am, but I simply tell him it's part of the job. Then he sighs, and drops it. It's almost a routine.

And his eyes. His eyes are the most beautiful, piercing ice-blue you can think of. He stares at you with those eyes – eyes that seem to see through every barrier you put up to protect yourself – in such a calm, steady manner that most people end up stuttering and getting awkward. If you lie, he looks at you in such a way, that most people break down and confess the truth. I, however, am not most people.

He's staring at me, right now, with those eyes, in a thoughtful manner.

"What are you thinking about, Christophe?" he asks me, in that smooth voice of his, his British accent still as heavy as ever. It's not an old-fashioned English accent, like that Pip boy's – his accent is simply clear and suggests a high education – no slurs, missing letters or slang.

"_Vous, mon ami_." I reply simply. I know Gregory understands French extremely well, and speaks it fluently too – it is required, and he knows many other languages too. It makes discussing things like missions in school much easier; no-one can speak French as fluently as me and Gregory, so no-one can understand.

"And why would you be doing that?" he inquired – his face is still calm, his voice and gaze steady.

"You are an interesteeng person, Gregory." I shrug.

"How so?"

I smirk, and refuse to answer him. He knows it is no use to try and get a reply from me if I do nto want to answer; so he simply shakes his head.

"And what are you theenkeeng about?" I ask. He smiles at me.

"_Vous, mon ami_." He replies, his grin staying in place and showing off his perfect, white teeth.

"And why are you doeeng zat?" I smirk. He gives a short laugh.

"You intrigue me." He says, and suddenly becomes serious. "You are such a mystery Tophe. Sometimes, just as I think I know you, you do something completely unexpected. I know almost nothing about you."

It's true. As much as I trust Gregory, I have never told him of my past. He knows the bits he's been there for himself – then there are various blanks I don't fill him in on.

"Oh really?"

"Mmm." He doesn't reply in words, instead cocking his head and making a thoughtful noise of agreement.

"Maybe zat ees part of my appeal." I smirk at him. I swear his cheeks go slightly pink, but he shakes his head and stands up.

"Come on, let's go home. It's freezing out here."

It's not far to our apartment, but Gregory takes a longer way around. A sudden barking from somewhere startles me, and I instinctively flinch backwards as a small puppy comes running up to us. It goes straight for me, so I try desperately to back away, but the fucking thing won't stop fucking following me.

I can hear Gregory laughing at me in the background, as I'm cornered by the dog. Then I get my shovel off my back, raise it and he stops laughing and runs to the creature's rescue.

"Honestly Tophe, it's a puppy. You don't need to try and batter it." He shoos the puppy off, and it runs back to the garden it came from. He looks at me, backed as far into the corner as I can, and gives another short laugh. I scowl at him, and heat up. I don't blush – but I do feel my face grow hot. Who knows, maybe I do blush, but it's never noticeable.

"What are you laugheeng at, beetch?"

"I find it extremely amusing that something as small and harmless as a puppy would scare you." He chuckles. I don't find it fucking amusing.

"You would not find eet amusing eef you knew ze reason behind eet, Gregory." I growl at him.

"And what is the reason?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes." He stares at me stubbornly, though he still has a grin on his face.

"My fazer set 'is on me on more zan one occasion." The grin on his face drops straight off his face.

"Oh, Tophe..." he whispers, steps forward, and puts a hand on my arm

"I do not need sympathy." I say, and shake his hand off. But he steps forward again, refusing to be deterred.

"I'm sorry. I honestly cannot understand what you've been through. Yet you stand so strong still." He looks up at me – I am about an inch taller than him. "I truly admire you."

I can't help but soften – as much as Gregory can be cold, serious and seemingly uncaring, he can sometime show a soft side. I truly adore him sometimes.

"Zank you." I mutter.

I've suddenly realised how understanding Gregory is. I've suddenly realised how much I trust him, how much I need him – how much I love him. I let my last defences drop –he won't ever see me as weak.

"Je t'aime." I whisper softly. He grins and pushes me back into the corner, pressing himself closer to me.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that." He says, then reaches up to kiss me. He breaks away to say "Je t'aime aussi." Before we engage in a heated fight for supremacy.

Like I said, I'm not thankful for many things.

But I'm thankful for my beautiful, wonderful Gregory.

_Words: 1,558_

_A/N: OMG this SUCKED ._

_It just came to me and I had to write it! It kinda... doesn't make sense to me. _

_I have always had, since I considered Christophe's past, an idea in my head of what it was like – his father has always hated him, and his fear of dogs stems from various occasions when his dad set dogs on him. His mother is also a bit more loving when I imagine her, but I decided to stick to the 'my-mozer-tried-to-kill-me-in-ze-womb' thing, and so instead she's very tough-love here._

_I COULDN'T THINK OF A GOOD WAY TO HAVE HIM CONFESS TO GREGORY WITHOUT HIM SEEMING OOC! Christophe is just... arrrgh! Too much pressure to write in character soo... meh! It's past midnight, and I'm ILL.__** -edit-**__ I got a review from __**D McVetty**__ who suggested a better way to have Christophe confess - DAMN IT WORKED! I think it sounds more Christophe-esque now, so THANK YOU!_

_I'm thinking of doing a Damien/Christophe fic. Because when I thought of their pairing name I realised you could either get Damstophe or... Christien. Which I found SOOO fucking funny cause they are the most ANTI Christian couple EVER._

_So yeah. I'm 14 later today (because it's 00:30am on 12__th__ September oer here in England.) Hooraaaaaay! (I'm not actually that enthusiastic XD)_

_I'm tired now (no, that a lie, I just need sleep.) so Imma go now. _

_Buh bye, please don't flame too bad cause I KNOW it sucks!_

_Jem_

_-EDIT-_

_Thank you very much to __**D McVetty**__,__** The Truth's Lie**__ and __**angelgirl 158**__ for reviewing when this was a seperate story!_


	4. Prisoner

**Prisoner**

**Summary:** "Yes, I could kill Christophe at times. Yes, he annoys me. Yes, I hate him. But everyone knows 'hate' is our codeword for 'love'." - Gregstophe, Gregory POV.

_A/N: Not sure if that is the best title. Whatever, I do what I want!_

_Warning: Swearing. I think that's around about it._

_Disclaimer: I don't own South Park. I don't own Christophe or Gregory. I do own the music book ;)_

_I need to photocopy it so I can censor it and take it in to my music teacher to help me with a few of the chords... XD Viva La Resistance!_

=X=

I blink my eyes open, wincing at the bloody huge headache I have. I become aware that my hands are bound above my head, and my feet are about an inch above the floor. I glance around the room I'm being kept in, and recognise it pretty instantly.

I'm in my own basement. Which means that all I have to do is wait...

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

"'Ello Gregory." Comes the smooth French accent I'm so used to.

"Frenchie, get me down from here." I call, using my affectionate 'insult' for him. He steps around the corner, cigarette between his smirking lips. Ohh sometimes I could just kill him. Especially when he does that really smug thing. That pisses me off.

"'Ow about _non_, Breet?" he replies, slowly blowing out smoke like he's got all the time in the bloody world. He really enjoys irritating me too much, and even though I tell myself not to allow him to get to me and not give him the satisfaction, he just naturally irritates me beyond belief.

"How about _oui_ before I make an attempt at your life?" Yeah, I realise the flaw in that logic is that I'm the one tied up. And of course, one of his favourite ways of winding me up is to point out any flaws in my logic, flaws which are extremely rare I remind you. My logic is of a high standard.

"And 'ow do you zink you are goeeng to do zat, eh? May I remind you, you are ze one w'o eez tied up. I 'ave ze advantage." He's grinning. He knows he's pissing me off.

"No you may not 'remind' me, I realise that." I snap.

Control, Gregory. Calm yourself. Don't give him the satisfaction.

Calm...

"And your 'air ees a mess."

"Do I look like I give a bloody damn about my hair at this moment?" I retort. So much for fucking calm.

I am so going to kill him when I get down from here.

If I get down from here. He has no problem with keeping me hung here for a few days. Of course, he gives me food and water. He doesn't want me to die. But like I said – he enjoys aggravating me, and being in control.

"Get me down from here." I demand again. He walks slowly closer, that self-satisfied smirk on his lips still. I wish I could slap it off. But my hands are tied. He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him as he blows smoke in my face. Even though I've got used to the smell of it coming off him, I still cough and choke on it. He smiles, still keeping his face close. I glare straight into his muddy brown eyes, and he stares straight back at me. He is probably to only person immune to my glares and cold stares.

He tilts his head to briefly brush our lips together.

His other way of annoying me; teasing. Of course, I do it to him often enough, because he himself is quite amusing when annoyed, but I, as everyone does, retain the feeling that as soon as he does it to me, it is unfair. So the way I control myself _here_ is promising myself revenge and returning the favour.

Actually, now I think of it, this might be _him_ getting revenge.

I keep myself perfectly still as his fingers trace up my jaw, run through my apparently messy blonde hair, then cup the back of my head to pull me closer to him for a longer kiss. He smirks and moves to runs his hands down my ribcage and side, causing an involuntary shudder on my part. I try to glare again, but with his hand resting on my waist, keeping me pressed against him, it's hard. I'm too preoccupied with my actions should he try anything.

Then our lips are locked again, and I'm pushed right back against the rough brick of the wall, trapping me. I manage to swing my legs up and lock them around his waist, and I then try to use that to push him back slightly, but it doesn't really work and I think he finds that amusing.

He pulls back, intending to then sit far away where I can't get at him and either demand he come back or beg to be released, and then he will continue to aggravate me until he lets me go 'at a price'. However, I've kept my grip on him, and I'm stronger than I actually look. He raises his eyebrows.

"Right, you can't go anywhere until you let me down."

"I really 'ave no problem staying 'ere." He smirks, leaning closer. I turn my head.

"And none of that, either." I tell him. Here's hoping it works...

"Fine." He says, and for a moment I think he means 'Fine, I'll let you down' but then I find out he means 'Fine, so I'll just go vampire on your ass' because he nips sharply at the skin on my neck I exposed when I turned my head away.

"Get off Christophe!" I hiss. I try again to pull him away at the waist and withdraw my head, but his hands are now keeping my legs rested on his hip and pulling me closer. As much as I hate to say it, today, I think I'm going to give in early.

"Please, Christophe." I plead gently. He smiles against my neck and pulls away.

"Ah, so soon Gregory?"

"Yes, now hurry up and get me down." He raises his eyebrows. "S'il vous plait?"

He smiles, and reaches his arms up to use the key to unlock my wrists. I keep my legs around his waist, so I won't fall as soon as my arms are free. When they are, I let them drop and wrap around his neck, and he locks his arms behind my back. I grip his hair and force his head back slightly, before pressing my lips roughly to his.

"I fucking hate you Christophe." I mutter when I pull away.

"I 'ate you too Gregory." He smirks, before we're both silenced by the other's lips.

Yes, I could kill Christophe at times. Yes, he annoys me. Yes, I hate him.

But everyone knows 'hate' is our codeword for 'love'.

=X=

_A/N: I don't even..._

_I tell you, that inspiration bunny gave me some odd sort of plot...thing... but keeping it in my head was bugging me, so I wrote it down. And I'm sorry it's weird and...urgh. I don't know, I let my friends read the occasional fic, but this one is a secret. So shush XD_

_I told my friend, Eli, "I have this idea for Gregstophe, but it worries me to write it down." And she just instantly replies "Rate it M." I was just "No, it's not explicit or anything, as far as I'm aware..."_

_Rawr, I don't know. Anywho so review if you feel you'd like too._

_Thank you, bye-bye, peace and fire._

_-EDIT-_

_Thank you to __**The Truth's Lie**__ and__** xxXSleepyMcCormickXxx **__for reviewing on this chapter when it was up as a separate story!_


	5. Boredom

**Boredom**

_Description: Christophe is bored. What will Gregory do to resolve this?_

_A/N: Haa, just read it_

=X=

"Gregory~" Christophe moaned. Gregory looked up from his book.

"What Tophe?"

"I'm bored." The French brunette said, in a tone much like a five-year-old child.

"Me too."

"Are zere any people to shoot?"

"No Tophe."

"Damn." There was a pause. "What do you plan to do to rectify zis situation?"

Gregory huffed, and pretended to think.

"I'll either set the neighbour's dog on you..."

Christophe grumbled.

"...hide your smokes and watch you try and find them..."

Christophe held his packet of cigarettes closer.

"...or force you into a church and watch you try to escape."

"And comeeng over 'ere and makeeng out wiz me would not be easier?"

"It's easier, yes."

"And eet would be entertaining, oui?"

"Oui." Gregory smirked.

"So come over 'ere." Christophe grinned. Gregory rolled his eyes, set down his book and walked over to sit on Christophe's lap. He pressed his lips roughly to Christophe's threading his hands in the messy brown hair tightly. Christophe responded by sitting up slightly, and trying to dominate the blonde. After a few minutes of playfully wrestling and intense kissing Gregory broke off.

"Still bored Tophe?" he breathed.

"Just a leetle." The French boy replied huskily. Gregory smiled and pulled them together again.

=X=

_A/N: Pfft. Goddamn weird this is :P_

_GREGSTOPHE :D :D :D_

_Hope you like eet. Au revoir._


	6. Les Miserables: Act 1

**Les Miserables: Act One**

_A/N: It came to me while watching the musical. Sue me bitches (no don't, I'm poor.) This is only Part One. Part Two gets to the proper Gregstophe, I promise. Sorry if Christophe is OOC, tell me if it's too bad. Enjoy, I guess._

_Warnings: Language, kind of OCC and uke Christophe, cross-dressing Christophe (poor Christophe xD)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the awesome TV show known as South Park, the film South Park BL&U or any characters from it. I don't own the awesome musical Les Miserables either, I do not own the characters, I do not own the songs, lyrics or anything._

_Christophe, Gregory, Kenny, Wendy (c) Trey and Matt_

_Les Mis characters (c) Victor Hugo_

_French Lyrics (c) Claude-Michel Schönberg and Alain Boublil._

=X=

**~::CHANGING ROOMS::~**

"Zis 'as got to be one of zeir beegist fuck-ups so far." Christophe growled.

"Oh come on Tophe, be proud; you have a main role!" Gregory smirked, picking up his costume and walking over to another part of the large dressing room to change. Christophe followed him with his own costume, still grumbling.

"But I 'ave to wear a dress! And a fucking wig. I am surely not suitable for a female role." Christophe protested. "I was much 'appier as a rebel."

"Just get changed Tophe. You'll look fine."

"And w'at ees zat supposed to mean, beetch?" The French teen snapped. Gregory smiled down at him, and turned away, leaving Christophe to wonder away, muttering and complaining, to get dressed.

It was the last night of the school's yearly play, and this year 'Les Miserables' had been chosen. Les Miserables was secretly the only musical Christophe could stand; it's theme of revolution, rebellion, fighting for what you believe in, and it's setting in his home country appealed to him. He actually had an old copy of the original French novel somewhere at home in a box in his attic; his mother had given it to him. He'd even been cast as Gavroche before as a young boy, back in France.

This time, for the first two showings Christophe had been in the role of one of the unnamed rebels, and one of the random poor. The drama teachers had thought his authentic French accent was perfect for the play, and as a result had given the reluctant boy a few singing parts to show it off. Even though he didn't particularly like that part, he was quite content to play his minor role and watch everyone else do theirs. However, today, the girl who had been playing the role of Eponine, Jemma, was ill, unable to play her vital role.

And Christophe, her partner during months of rehearsing lines, was the only one who knew her part. They had a recording of all her parts; Christophe would just need to lip-sync and look like he was singing them.

He was noticeably smaller than the other boys of the production, and barely taller than most of the girls. He was thin; despite having muscle, it wasn't bulky, and as a result of this and his rather poor lifestyle and diet, he was thin enough to be a stand-in girl.

After a lot of shouting, some punching, and much negotiating and threatening, Christophe had eventually been told he either do the part or be expelled from school. He found this horribly unfair, but even though he tried to suggest simply getting another girl to cover, South Park High was sadly lacking in female population. So he had no choice.

"Hey, at least you can lip-sync reasonably." Gregory said as they rejoined in the middle of the room. Gregory had been cast as Marius, a role he was perfectly happy in despite his original aim to be Enjolras, leader of the resistance. He carefully combed his hair back, and fixed his jacket, and glanced over to Christophe who was pulling at his tattered dress, frowning and muttering again. "And you look lovely in that dress." He teased.

Almost instantly Gregory was tackled to the ground by a very angry Christophe. Despite the teen being small and thin, he _was_ very strong.

"Eef you are not careful I weel mess up zat pretty face of yours and break so many of your bones you weel not walk for years." The brunette growled fiercely. Although Gregory enjoyed teasing his friend, he knew that Christophe actually _would_ carry out that threat despite their friendship, and so wisely cut it off.

"I'm sorry Tophe." Gregory apologised, showing his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Look, let me up, I have to fix my costume."

Christophe stood up off Gregory and allowed the blonde to pick himself up, dust of his costume and start walking toward a mirror. Before he did so however, the Brit turned back, a smirk on his face.

"You have to go and put your wig on." he chuckled, and walked off, laughing to himself as he heard Christophe's cry of anger and frustration.

**~::BACKSTAGE::~**

Christophe jumped slightly when someone appeared behind him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He looked up to see Kenny, in his Thernadier costume. Everyone thought he was appropriately cast, and he seemed to enjoy the role. In the first showing, when he'd got his hands on the little paper notes he'd accidently let out a cry of "I'm finally rich!", earning laughter from the audience who all knew him.

"So this is my wonderful daughter, eh?" Kenny grinned. "You look lovely in that dress."

Christophe elbowed him hard in the stomach. The blonde coughed and doubled over, but maintained a smile.

"Aw, don't be sore." He gasped. "I'm not joking, I'd totally tap that."

Kenny was knocked to the ground when Christophe hit him hard over the head.

"First off, I am not eenterested. Second, I do not wish to be complimented, I would much razzer 'ave someone say eet looks disgusting on me. I am Ze Mole and I do not want everyone zinking of me as being ze kid een ze dress. I suggest you _taisez-vous, avant que je le faire pour vous!"_ The brunette seethed, and stormed off, leaving a dazed Kenny to wonder what he fuck he'd just said.

"I see Kenny found you." Gregory smiled as Christophe approached. The French boy just nodded, his scowl staying in place, his eyes seeming to be trying to death-glare holes in the floor.

"Tout le monde me dit que j'ai joli. Je n'aime pas ça." Christophe mumbled. Gregory patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it Christophe. If it makes you feel better, I much prefer you in your muddy combats and t-shirts."

Christophe's frown softened slightly and he nodded. They both turned their heads stagewards at the sound of the chain gang's song, signalling the start of the show. Christophe let out a frustrated sigh, and Gregory once again put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and they walked off to take a seat until they were needed onstage.

**~::EPONINE'S FIRST APPEARANCE::~**

Christophe, trying to stay in-character, ran with the rest of the poor cast onstage at his cue. He took his place near the 'Thernadiers'; Kenny and Red, off to one side of the stage. He watched as Gregory and Damien, who had somehow managed to land a role as Enjolras, played their part of handing things out to the poor.

He went along with his part, playfully snatching Gregory's book and dancing away before returning it, with the lip-synced comment 'I like the way you grow your hair'. Gregory ruffled his 'hair' as he replied with his line of 'I like the way you always tease' and walked off. Christophe stared after him, putting on an expression of dejection.

He suddenly thought how he really _did_ like the way Gregory grew his hair.

And then, Wendy walked on in her role; Cosette. As Christophe pulled Gregory off, Eponine's attempt to drag Marius away from her family and the gang of thieves, Wendy and Gregory bumped, and Wendy dropped her basket.

All of a sudden, in Christophe's mind, this was no longer a play. Wendy looked up at Gregory as he bent to help her, and he stared back, and their eyes filled with wonder. He could actually _see_ them 'fall in love at first sight'. He watched Gregory, crestfallen, and glanced over at Wendy, jealousy and hopelessness washing over his face.

His character had to walk off, and so he did. Everyone in the audience thought he (although they didn't really know it was a 'he') was a brilliant actor, his portrayal of Eponine as she realised the boy she loved had just fallen for someone else wonderfully realistic.

None of them would guess the expression was genuine.

**~::BACKSTAGE - INTERVAL::~**

Christophe frowned down at his own feet. It was the end of act one; after the interval he would have to 'perform' his solo song, 'On My Own', and then his last scene in 'A Little fall Of Rain', after which he would be absent until the very end of the show.

He looked over and saw Gregory talking to Wendy, the girl openly flirting with him. The sight made a faint, embarrassed blush bloom on his cheeks, and he looked down again. His frown deepened again, angry at himself for letting this whole situation resurface his long buried emotions.

_I think this particular casting was probably the worst that could have happened._ He thought to himself miserably.

Of course it was his luck to land a one-night role as Eponine with Gregory as Marius and that damned Wendy girl as Cosette. It was a situation all too real. Christophe hid a growing love for the blonde, who would never consider him anything more than a friend, already being in love with someone else, a pretty girl he'd met and almost instantly fallen for.

_Stupid fucking Cupid, stupid fucking God, stupid fucking world._

Christophe sighed to himself, and in some attempt to take his mind off Gregory, sang quietly to himself.

"Joie est mon caractère; c'est la faute à Voltaire,

Misère est mon trousseau; c'est la faute à Rousseau.

Je suis tombé par terre; c'est la faute à Voltaire,

Le nez dans le ruisseau; c'est la faute à..."

"What're you singing Christophe?"

Christophe's eyes shot up, and were met with the ice blue eyes of the blonde he was currently trying to distract himself from. Gregory raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the brunette.

"C'est 'La Faute A Voltaire'. C'est la chanson de Gavroche, dans la version francaise." Christophe muttered. He heard Gregory chuckle. "Quoi de si drole?" he demanded.

"You've slipped back into French." Gregory said. It took Christophe a moment to process this; after reminiscing and singing in French his mind had immediately switched back to his first language, and it took him a minute to recover his English.

"Eh, sorry." He apologised. Gregory sat down next to him and shook his head.

"No, no, it's fine. Your voice sounds nice when it's speaking French." He complimented, and Christophe tilted his head down to hide his heated face. "Hey, sing it again, you're good."

Christophe complied, and started to sing again, softly, never once looking up to meet Gregory's eyes.

=X=

_A/N: Hooray for a rather OOC, uke Christophe xD_

_Come on, Les Miserables is totally Christophe's musical. And Gregory's for that matter, mainly due to the fact they exist to parody the characters. While Christophe is quite obviously a rather 'Gavroche' boy, Gregory is Enjolras, and they obviously have no real connection/relationship in the musical, so I messed around, because I really wanted to do Christophe in the Eponine situation with Gregory and Wendy._

_Soo here he is xD_

_Oh, and I've been listening to some of the original French songs, and dear GOD do I love Gavroche's voice and songs. 'La Faute A Voltaire' is sung to the tune of 'Little People'. Actually, 'Little People' is sung to the tune of 'La Faute A Voltaire', but what-evs. It's very close to the tune of 'La Resistance' too._

_I should probably do French translations, including lyrics._

I suggest you _taisez-vous, avant que je le faire pour vous: _I suggest youshut your mouth, before I do it for you!

_Tout le monde me dit que j'ai joli. Je n'aime pas ça: _Everyone is saying that I look pretty. I don't like it_._

_Joie est mon caractère; c'est la faute à Voltaire,_

_Misère est mon trousseau; c'est la faute à Rousseau._

_Je suis tombé par terre; c'est la faute à_ _Voltaire,_

_Le nez dans le ruisseau; c'est la faute à... _

_Translates to:_

Joy is my character; it's the fault of Voltaire

Misery is my outfit; it's the fault of Rousseau

I fell to the ground; it's the fault of Voltaire

Nose in the gutter; it's the fault of...*

(alternatively 'it's _'s fault' or 'Blame it on _')

_C'est 'La Faute A Voltaire'. C'est la chanson de Gavroche, dans la version francaise: _It's 'The Fault of Voltaire'. It's Gavroche's song, in the French version.

_Quoi de si drole:_ What is so funny?

_Thar you go people._

_Part two coming soon._


	7. Les Miserables: Act 2

**Les Miserables: Act Two**

_A/N: Oh yes. Christophe can act! Yes, cute, adorable little uke!Christophe, who I now love btw, is a good actor, especially since he's very close to Eponine's situation. As is Gregory, obviously, cause he's an A*, 4.0 GPA student (whatever a 4.0 GPA is xD) and I can most definitely see him being an actor :P_

_Warnings: Again, uke!Christophe, if you don't like him._

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters here. Les Mis characters (c) Victor Hugo and South Park characters (c) Trey and Matt. Lyrics belong to Herbert Kretzmer._

=X=

**~::On My Own::~**

Christophe pulled his long, tattered coat over the even more tattered dress as he wandered onstage. This was his solo 'performance'; Eponine had just been sent by Marius to deliver a letter to Cosette. He looked up at the lights on the walls, made to look like shutters leaking light onto the night-time streets of Paris. He sighed, and started his lip-syncing.

"And now I'm all alone again,

Nowhere to turn, no-one to go to.

Without a home, without a friend, without a face to say hello to.

And now the night is near; now I can make believe he's here..."

Christophe closed his eyes as he continued to 'sing', allowing himself to do as his character was. He continued to walk around the stage for a moment, casting his mind back to the real Paris streets, and placing the imagined figure beside him.

"...The city goes to bed

And I can live inside my head..."

Christophe stopped, and opened his eyes. As he performed he allowed himself to loosen and act; he looked beside himself, as if seeing a figure, tensed his shoulders, as if being embraced, smiling up to the ceiling, eyes glazed as if not seeing the world around him but instead being lost in his own fantasy.

How many times had he comforted himself on a dark night, creeping around to achieve a mission or simply wandering the streets, by imagining someone beside him? Imagining Gregory beside him. Hearing in his head the comments he imagined the blonde would make at him, the joking words, teasing actions, a playful nudge or a comforting hand. He couldn't count.

"And I know it's only in my mind..."

Christophe allowed his dreamy expression to drop. His brow furrowed slightly, lips curving down, ashamed, embarrassed, disappointed in himself for being so weak as to need such a childish form of comfort, for letting daydreams soften his mind and raise his hopes so they could fall down and crush him. He was supposed to be tough, and fearless, and able to look after himself; he'd practically lived on the street, for Gods sakes, in poverty, fighting for survival. Love, and an impossible one at that, was a weakness. He didn't want to be weak.

Like Eponine, he tried to put on an expression of determination.

"And although I know that he is blind

Still I say, there's a way for us!"

But still, he felt despondent. It was hopeless really, a fantasy, something in his head that he'd indulged too much, so much that now he was desperate for returned affections. So much that he was now willing to risk himself if necessary to just be beside Gregory. That he'd die if it gave him a chance to tell Gregory how he felt.

"...Without me, his world would go on turning

A world that's full of happiness, that I have never known..."

It was probably true. How much did he mean to Gregory? Not much more than a simple friend, at best. If he should disappear one night, killed on one of his missions, would it be that big a deal to Gregory? A short period of mourning possibly, but soon enough he'd be occupied with Wendy, happy...

"...I love 'im.

But only on my own."

Inaudible over the recording, Christophe whispered these words to himself as he wrapped the coat tighter around himself, and walked towards the other side of the stage. Once again having to act for his character and not himself, he paused; pulled the hair of his wig up under the cap he was wearing, fixed his coat again, and walked offstage, determination on his face. As the audience's applause faded and he disappeared from their view, Christophe dropped his expression, beck to dejection.

**~::Backstage: Little People::~**

Christophe listened to the young boy playing Gavroche singing 'Little People', quietly singing to himself again 'La Faute A Voltaire', the song's original French counterpart.

"Hey." Christophe looked up and saw Damien of all people sauntering over to him. "So you're 'Ponine' eh?"

"My name ees Christophe." The brunette whispered, not quite able to sound angry. "What do you want?"

"You know, there's a fanbase for EponinexEnjolras."

Christophe stared at Damien for a moment. The demon didn't actually look all too sincere, just stood smirking. Eventually Christophe hit him.

"Pees off Damien." He muttered. "Your _petit garcon rebelle_ is looking over here. You'll make 'im jealous."

Damien glanced around in confusion, not quite sure who was supposedly looking at them. The only person he could see was Pip, but he didn't seem to be looking anywhere other than the floor at his own feet. The noirette shrugged, having lost all interest in Christophe now he had disappeared, and walked over to the boy playing as one of his rebels to wait for their onstage cue.

**~::A Little Fall of Rain::~**

Christophe stood as he let the makeup team apply the blood to his chest and temple. He readjusted his cap so it was slightly askew, and pulled the coat around him to cover up the red now staining the dress he wore.

It was time for Eponine's death scene, the scene she told Marius of her love for him, the scene she lay in his arms as she died, happy to be with her love at least. Just before her death, she was supposed to try and kiss Marius.

Christophe had seen this musical before; in some, she made no attempt, in most there was what he'd deemed the 'almost kiss'; she came close, but died before her lips could touch Marius'. And then, in a few, she succeeded, and died truly happy, with her mouth pressed to that of her _bien-aime_.

The past few showings had used the 'almost kiss' scenario, mainly so that neither actor was forced to kiss the other. However, Christophe had a plan in mind. As he climbed the barricade onstage, and ducked and flinched at the shot which was supposed to hit him, he thought of it and set it in his mind, determined. He clambered down on shaky legs to meet Gregory, who in his role as Marius hurriedly questioned him whether Cosette had received her letter. Christophe replied and then let his legs give way as he heard "I don't think I can stand anymore!"

Gregory caught him and gently lowered him down to the floor.

"'Ponine, what's wrong, I feel there's something wet upon your hair

Eponine, you're hurt! You need some help... oh God it's everywhere!"

Gregory brushed his hand against the bloodstained spot on Christophe face, knocking off his cap and allowing the hair to fall down, and making Christophe shudder at the same time. The blonde opened the coat to expose the large red stain on the dress, the fatal bullet wound. Gregory cradled the brunette in his arms so that he was in his lap, and Christophe's hand lifted to grasp the front of his shirt.

"Don't you fret, Monsieur Marius, I don't feel any pain

A little fall of rain, can hardly hurt me now.

You're here; that's all I need to know

And you will keep me safe, and you will keep me close

And rain will make the flowers grow..."

As he 'sang' his verse Christophe pulled himself closer to Gregory's chest, and looked up. The blue eyes he adored so much stared back down at him full of worry, sadness and realisation. He knew Gregory was just acting when he looked down at him in such a caring, loving way, but it still made his heart beat faster. He'd like to imagine this was how Gregory would look at him while he died in his arms.

"But you would live 'Ponine, dear God above!

If I could heal your wounds with words of love..."

"Just hold me now, and let it be

Shelter me, comfort me..."

Gregory's grip on him tightened as he continued with his verse, drawing Christophe even closer to him. He stroked his hair gently, then placed his hand over the one gripping his shirt, holding it gently. Christophe's expression lifted to one of near joy, and he smiled.

"...I'll sleep in your embrace at last!" The line held the happiness Eponine felt, knowing she was being held by her love, and that she would die in his arms and no-one else's.

"The rain that bring your here, is Heaven blessed!

The skies begin to clear, and I'm at rest.

A breath away from where you are

I've come home, from so far..."

Christophe looked away, Eponine becoming delirious in death, then turned back, her voice fading as her life ebbed. The last note ended on a gasp of pain, and Christophe convulsed slightly, curling into himself as one does when in pain, yet still trying to mask it and be brave. Gregory quickly soothed him, holding him closer, desperation starting to show on his features as Marius panicked, not wanting to lose his friend. Christophe relaxed again, although his grip on Gregory became tighter, also showing desperation and fear.

"And rain..."

"And rain..."

"Will make the flowers..." Christophe's line faded away. Gregory was now leaning close to him, their foreheads just inches from touching, having been getting ever closer to sooth and comfort his dying friend.

Christophe seized his chance. He brought his hand up to grip the back of Gregory's head, and pulled him down, pressing their lips together in a desperate kiss. He could tell it surprised Gregory, because he jolted slightly, and his mouth opened slightly in shock. The kiss was fierce, and brief, lasting no more than four seconds before Christophe slowly relaxed himself, hand falling from its hold on Gregory, head lolling back and eyes closing, playing dead.

He felt Gregory shake him slightly, and gasp in a way that sounded like a sob. As the music started to fade, ending their duet and Eponine's life, he cried out.

"No...Ponine! No!" Gregory's head fell against Christophe's chest as he clung to him, still acting and suppressing fake sobs. Christophe listened as the small passage succeeding his death passed, and tried not to tense as he was lifted and carried offstage by a few of the rebel student actors. Most went quickly back onstage, but Pip lingered for a moment.

"That was brave. I hope it works out." He murmured.

"I decided to stop dreaming and act. Do the same." Christophe looked sincerely at Pip, and the blonde nodded before he hurried back.

Christophe dragged himself into a corner and proceeded to fret to himself for the whole of his absence.

**~::AFTER THE SHOW::~**

Christophe let out a sigh of relief as the curtains closed and he heard the audience clapping and cheering. The rest of the cast also relaxed, and celebrated the success of their last showing. Stan and Kyle high-fived, Kenny whooped and jumped in the air, Red stood beside him giggling. Pip gave a small squeal and hugged Damien, who grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist. No-one noticed as Pip quickly kissed him, and Damien returned it. The two walked off together to get changed, as did everyone else. Wendy hung onto Gregory's arm, giggling and chattering. Gregory smiled down at her, but seemed distracted as he looked around.

Christophe glared at Wendy. He'd got a small amount of comfort seeing that Marius and Cosette's wedding kiss had been fake, but she was still going to steal Gregory away. He sighed in defeat and started to walk away to dress and walk home.

"Do you wanna go and get something to eat with me?" he heard Wendy ask Gregory.

"Sure, but first, I have to do something..." Gregory replied and, spotting Christophe's disappearing back, pulled away from the girl to hurry after him.

"Christophe!"

Christophe turned to see what Gregory wanted, and was caught off-guard when the blonde's lips collided with his own. Gregory gripped his waist and pulled him close, and cupped his face. Christophe softened and melted into the kiss, putting both arms around Gregory's neck and fisting some of his hair.

They heard Wendy gasp angrily, and broke apart to watch her storm out.

"Hmm, guess I'm free tonight." Gregory murmured with a smirk. He looked down at Christophe. "Come round mine?"

"Tres bien." The brunette smiled. The two once again engaged their lips, kissing passionately. When they both pulled away, panting slightly, Christophe trying to hide his blush, Gregory took his hand and led him out. He smirked playfully.

"Do you want to change, or do you mind staying in the dress?"

"I am not keeping zis zing on. Besides, you said you preferred me in my combats and t-shirts."

"Touche."

=X=

_A/N: Trolololol it's finished!_

_Looky looky, Christophe can act. Yup. Oh, and I couldn't help but add that Dip xD_

_French translations:_

_petit garcon rebelled: _little rebel boy

_bon-aime: _beloved

_Tres bien: _Very well (alternatively 'okay')

_And so end this very weird concept, feat uke!Christophe, and the most awesome musical Les Miserables._

_I hope you liked it, feedback and reviews VERY much appreciated it, I want to know what you thought of this weird concept. It's quite...adventurous considering the pairing, I think, and hard to write because I obviously don't remember each and every line in the minor passages._

_(In case you're wondering, in the performance I watched recently, Marius does cry 'No! Ponine!' which was so sad. But there wasn't a kiss. Though I saw it with a kiss once.)_

_Bye, please review, hope you liked._


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